Billy’s top molars have broken through and those bottom ones are not far behind. He still only has three bottom front teeth and we are beginning to question whether or not he’ll ever get that fourth one. I don’t have my fourth bottom front tooth, but never thought it was something I’d pass on. We’ll just have to wait and see. (Thanks to a good dentist and orthodontist, no one would ever know that I was missing that particular tooth) I am eagerly awaiting those teeth to be finished so that he will start sleeping well again. Kevin handles most of the night time wakings, because I’m incredibly lucky, but they even disturb his naps and that just makes for one cranky baby by bed time.
Billy is getting good at calling Kevin and I “Da” and “Ma.” What I find so interesting about this is that we refer to Kevin as “Poppy.” Why? Long story, but the short is that when Ricky was born, I just couldn’t call my husband daddy, but Poppy was okay. If you ask Billy, “Where’s Poppy?” he will call out, “Daaaa!” Ricky did the same thing. It is very curious to me, since we rarely refer to Kev as daddy. Now Ricky will say, “That’s my daddy. His name is Poppy.”
Last night I ran into the teacher of the preschool that wouldn’t let Ricky stay last fall (thought I was past all the bad feelings–guess I was wrong). She asked if I’d ever gotten Ricky into a preschool and I told her that I’d chosen to just keep him home and her reply was “That was probably the right decision.” While I know she was right, it has been the best thing to have Ricky home, I didn’t like HER saying it. My little boy that wasn’t good enough for their preschool (based on one 2-hour class, mind you) has taught himself how to sound out words and is starting to read at 3 1/2. The other night, he was looking as a book and we hear “grrrrr-uuu-mmm-py. Grumpy.” And it wasn’t even a picture of the dwarf, it was about a grumpy animal. He loves figuring out words and points out words to me every where we go. Not good enough for her preschool, my foot.
Monday was a beautiful weather day and Kevin took the day off of work. We were all outside most of the day. At one point Ricky fell on the rocks and, of course, I had him in shorts (it did get up to 80). Both knees got scraped up pretty good. After that, if he was thinking about his knees, he would walk with his legs partially bent and his back hunched over because “my knees have owies.” All he needed was a cane and he was a picture perfect old man. Two minutes later he’d be running again until we asked about his knees and then the old man returned. It was pretty funny.